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Historica United
This is a modified version of the entry that I (Henjin_Quilones) contributed to Book II, Challenge V, Category C, combined with the highlights of my fellow Avalonian, @TitusV's, entry to the same challenge category. He approached me, after being approached by other Guildsmembers, about combining our entries into a single cohesive narrative, as a way of trying to help speed up the judging process; what you see here is the result.
Part I: In the Halls of Hesperia
The story of the beginning of the end has been told elsewhere, in the tales of the build-bards of old, of intrigue, murder, magical items, quests, and alliances. Thus this is not the beginning of the end, but the beginning of the end of the end, if you follow. And the beginning of the end of the end begins in one of the furthest corners of Historica, in the far west of Avalonia, in one of the last remaining pockets of High Elves in the known world, the Kingdom of Hesperia. High Elves seldom get involved with the affairs of men, yet in times of the greatest peril they will sometimes venture forth with their glittering array of armor and gilded weapons. This could be one of those times, with the threat of Raavage and his magically-unleashed threats of doom for all the living, and yet it is not so simple for the King of Hesperia, Fingolë the Golden.
In his halls in his summer palace, at Istolia, he met with his trusted advisers, his two eldest children, Falaria and Fingalad. Suddenly, ignoring his guards, his youngest daughter, Galaria, and several others burst in.
"Father," cried Galaria. "You must listen to me!"
"And why should he listen to a child as rude as you?" retorted Falaria, speaking in place of her father, who sat on the throne glowering at his impetuous, almost wood-elf daughter.
"Surely you have heard the message that Celdrian has brought?" said Galaria, gesturing to the blue-clad Eagle-Rider beside her.
"Of course I have," spoke the king. "But neither he nor you were invited to this meeting, were you? And is that a human in my presence?"
"Yes, Father, it is. This is Henjin Quilones, a knight of the Druidi Order, whom I found while on patrol in the forest. You also saw the fireball flying through the sky, did you not? That was his arrival, and the sign that the fulfillment of the prophecy is at hand. The true king of all Historica returns!"
"Bah!" exclaimed the king. "A druid he may be, or perhaps not. I have no use for humans, nor dwarves, nor even lowly wood-elves. Begone from my presence! And think well before coming before me again uninvited, Galaria, my daughter."
"May we have permission to search the library of the palace here, Father?" Galaria asked before leaving.
"Search all you want, just do not disturb my councils again!" shouted Fingolë.
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"A charming fellow, your father," said Henjin when they were safely in the library.
"Indeed," agreed Galaria. "I would like to say that he takes some getting used to, but even after four hundred years I am still not used to his arrogance and pride. He is obsessed with the proper place of the High Elves, and as the years go by he thinks less and less about what is good and true and beautiful in the universe, still less about the fate of Historica."
"Are you sure this is the proper section of the library, Galaria?" asked Henjin. "These stacks are palatial; I have never seen such books and scrolls in my life."
"Well, whatever else can be said of my father, he takes it very seriously to have a record of every book, parchment, decree, spell, recipe, or anything else ever written in the four lands, and beyond, in his libraries. There are plenty of maps here, but which is the correct one?"
"We need something referring to a helm, the Necromancer's Helm," chimed in Celdrian, the messenger, who had joined them in their search.
"I thought there was just a battle over helms a few years back," said Yavenna, Galaria's most-trusted elf-scout.
"That was the Elemental Helm; this new one is the Necromancer's Helm," corrected Galaria. "Very different, though both helms."
A shout came from the balcony level and the others saw Henjin waving a tattered scrap of parchment over the railing. "I have found it! This scrap tells of the location of the Necromancer's Helm!"
"Quickly, then, let us compare it to the maps and mark the place where the Helm may be found," said Galaria.
"Then what?" asked Yavenna. "What do we do when we know where the Helm is?"
The group fell silent. They had not thought that far ahead. Henjin joined them below and they stood around the table in the library, pondering.
"We need some way of neutralizing the magic of the Helm, I think; something to control the arcane flows that radiate out from a magical artefact like that."
Celdrian looked up at the druid in surprise. "Did you say 'arcane flows'?"
This time it was Henjin's turn to look surprised. "Yes, I did. Why?"
Celdrian smiled. "I know just the people who specialize in the regulation of arcane matters, on a very practical and technical level. Make a copy of the map and everything we know about the Helm, and I will bring it to Zotharith and Onicimus; they will know what to do."
"We also need to have the armies of the various guilds ready to fight, in a unified front against our different, and yet united, enemies," said Galaria.
"I will bring letters to leading men in the guilds, telling them where to bring their troops and when, while I am on my way to deliver the map to Zotharith," said Celdrian. "Aeriglaaac flies faster than the wind, so we can have it done in no time."
"When you are done, return here and collect us," added Galaria. "We still need to make sure the True King can retake his throne."
Part II: Heroes Assemble
And so Celdrian mounted on Aeriglaaac the Great Eagle and visited the four guilds, bringing messages to leaders far and wide.
As he flew eastward over the forests and plains of Avalonia, he stopped in Eolas first, to deliver the message to the Maestro:
As soon as the Maestro received the news, he sent out riders to summon his banners to the fight, and, knowing the state of the enemy they might be fighting, called even upon the various mages he had in his realm.
Celdrian, after leaving Eolas, soon met with deGothia in the halls of Sionnach:
After stopping at a few more Avalonian villas to rally the lords against the Drow, he then flew north across the mountains of Mitgardia and visited Fin of Terydian on the edges of the tundra:
Sir Glorfindel was next, near the gates of Nordheim:
Having assured that the northerners would muster against the Algus, the mighty eagle flew on the back of the North Wind, faster than the currents of aether, and was soon in the lands of the south, in the Guild of Kaliphlin, where he stopped in Barqa to meet the half-elf Lord Gideon:
Katoren was next, with the Lord Aymeri greeting him by the gate:
Finally he flew further east to Nocturnus, and visited Lord Vladivus at Shadowmere:
A stop in the lowlands near the Reach allowed him to visit Gal-Turok, Leader of the Goblin Clans:
The goblin leader had his border patrols increased, and built new walls and towers to forestall any Spire incursions onto his lands.
Finally, after many miles, though only a few hours aloft, Celdrian and Aeriglaaac circled down over Zotharith.
Part III: Zotharith Council Meeting
In Zotharith, a council meeting was underway, with Exetrius standing in for his father, Onicimus, who was busy tinkering with his gadgets far beneath the city. That such an inexperienced and low-ranking member of the Order should be leading a meeting rankled some in attendance, but all held their tongues out of respect for their leader's wishes. Exetrius called them to order.
"If we could find the Helm before Raavage, my father thinks that we have both the manpower and the technical knowledge to disable the Helm and its magics," the white-haired mage said.
"But what of Raavage?" said one of the others in attendance, General Zeruko Urima. "My armies are well-trained and well-equipped, but I am not sure they are ready to face the dreadful power that is Lord Raavage."
"Even Raavage cannot defeat an entire army of warrior-mages, General," replied Exetrius. "We will bring a combination of your warriors and some of our best mages, so that we shall not fail. We will also be provided with several of the arcane-regulation devices that link up to the core that my father has been building, which should, if the calculations are correct, neutralize the artefact entirely. If only we knew where it was!"
At that moment, Celdrian knocked at the door and entered.
"I think I can help you there, young Exetrius," said the elf-messenger. "My friends have pored over the extensive libraries of Hesperia and discovered the location of the Helm you seek. They have included instructions in that letter, and marked the place here on the map in red."
"Thank you, Celdrian, and may the wind be ever under Aeriglaaac's wings."
"May your mana never run short," said the elf as he bowed out.
"We start tonight!" cried Exetrius after the elf had left. "We cannot afford to waste even one day in this quest, since Raavage has already had several days' head start. Let us go!"
Part IV: The Great Battle of Historica
While the Zotharians were travelling to the location deep beneath the Rakath Mountains that held the Necromancer's Helm, the armies of Historica were on the march, too.
Many of the Lords of the Realms came to the Grand Griffon Tavern on the outskirts of Cedrica to make the final preparations for the upcoming battles. They would be fought on many fronts, for the enemy was diverse: the Avalonians were up against the Drow, the Mitgardians against the Algus, the Nocturnians of the Resistance were fighting against the Spire's dominion, and Kaliphlin, still divided by conflict, was fighting itself, torn asunder again by the Spire's influence. The recently resurrected and restored Trian Burress led the meetings. Some of the leaders, those who had not yet met the True King of Historica, were discussing his identity; Burress interrupted them with a story of the old king, saying, "Many years ago I was with Artorious Rex, Avalonia's disappeared leader, walking through Cedrica here, when we saw, in the street, a beggar who looked a little too familiar. When we looked closer, we realized that it was the king himself, dressed in rags, begging on the street."
"Needless to say, I was shocked at the sight, but Artorious merely laughed. 'The king likes to be among his people, to feel what they feel and see what they see; today he might be a beggar, next week a stableboy, the next a barkeeper'. It moved me to see a king who cared so deeply for his people."
"Later, when we were back in Albion, I asked Artorious more about the king and his habits; I learned much that day, but alas, the time on the earth was short for our beloved king, for it was not long before Revolword, that accursed drow-lover, killed him and started all of this chaos.
One thing I learned, and will lay before you now, before the battle, to give you hope for our cause, was that the king had sent off his children to explore the lands outside of Historica. He had done so for two reasons, Artorious said: first, to keep them away from palace intrigue that might be deadly; and second, to force them to learn more about the world and different ways of experiencing life and rule, just as he did when he sat as a beggar in the streets. One of those children has returned to us now, in our time of need, to guide the Guilds once more."
The other lords, hearing Burress's tale, were much cheered, and fell to the task of making the plans for victory over their enemies.
And so, guided by the enheartened lords from every Guild, the Historican armies came forth from every race and people. The enemies of the Guilds also marched forth, drawn by the reports of spies that the Guilds were gathering. Then the battles were fought between the armies of the four guilds and their deepest enemies, enemies united behind the banner of the Black Spire.
The Battle of the Moruth Highlands
At first, the Nocturnians took a defensive stance, not knowing what the Spire would throw against their walls. But it soon turned out that the Spire troops were mortal too, when Raavage was not there to lead them. Hence, the Resistance got bolder.
And so Gal-Turok, himself at the forefront, led his goblin armies in the mighty charge in the Battle of the Moruth Highlands, joined by the armies of Anfauglir, Lord Vladivus, Anzar the Dragon Master, and Lord Jorrith, among many others. The press of black horses against the charging Uruks of the Hand of Corruption carried the day, despite the chanting of witches giving the Uruks strength. The charge was glorious and valiant, and the army of the Resistance won the battle, scattering the remaining Uruks in every direction, to be picked off one by one.
The Battle of the Shifting Oasis
Lord Gideon of Barqa led the Kaliplinites into war, along with his secret weapon, the Barqan fire.
It was the Barqan fire indeed that won the day, burning through the armor and flesh of the High Council troops who had joined with the Spire. Not all had, and many within Kaliphlin chose not to fight at all, as the scars of the civil war were still too fresh; but those patriots who desired peace and the return of the True King to Cedrica bared their blades and fought against those who wished for dissension. In the shifting sand dunes outside of the famed Shifting Oasis, the two armies met, and the High Council soldiers, and the occasional orc, were routed. Led by soldiers of the Desert King, Barqa, Katoren, and Khadira, the armies loyal to the cause of the True King rode off victorious.
The Battle of Crystal Tarn
In Mitgardia, the Algus were stopped once and for all at the Battle of Crystal Tarn, when the Mitgardian men, led by Sir Glorfindel, Lord Fin, Sir Gunman, and Davok Shieldbasher, among other great northern heroes, and an army of dwarves met the onrush of the mysterious ice-people. Despite the blasts of cold and ice launched by the sorceresses of the Algus, the Mitgardians stood strong with their dragon-forged steel and destroyed their enemies.
The Battle of Green Leaf Pass
In Avalonia, the Flight of Dragons flew again, charging across the field of battle.
Thus the Drow armies were annihilated at the Battle of Green Leaf Pass, with not a twisted dark elf of that army left alive. The Flight of Dragons, led by Lords de Gothia and Alric Drondil, together with the Maestro and Brandon Stark, some elves, forest men, and one strange half-elf, coursed up the pass and broke through the Drow lines, and Laesonar did the rest with a few well-placed leaps and swings of his katanas. The back of the Drow army was broken, and it would be years before they could muster another army and pose a threat to anyone.
All of the free peoples of Historica were participants in the Great Battle for Historica, fought on many different fields but all joined together in one spirit.
Part V: The Chamber of the Necromancer
Meanwhile, beneath the Rakath Mountains, Lord Raavage finally reached the crypt that held the Necromancer's helm.
The only problem was that instead of one helm, there were eight. "Which one is the Helm I seek?" Raavage muttered. "Which one is it?"
He reached out to first one, then another. Each felt distinctly magical, but he could not tell which was which.
Behind him he heard a noise, which caused him to turn around to see who had made it past his guards. It was those infernal Zotharians, the mages who refused to join him despite his many threats. No matter. They would be dealt with once he had the Helm.
"Raavage!" the white-haired one in the front shouted at him across the chamber. "Step away from the Helms and we will not hurt you."
"Ha!" snorted Raavage. "Hurt me? You? A half-grown, 39th-ranked mage? Did Zotharith have no one better to send? Did Daddy not want to come himself, so he sends his little runt in his place?"
"I am not alone, Raavage, as you can see. I have behind me some much more powerful mages than I, and what is more, I have the knowledge of which Helm you seek, which, from the looks of it, you lack."
Raavage growled.
"How can you be so sure, Little Mage? Did Daddy tell you?"
"No, an Avalonian druid and elf princess did, after studying the lore available in their library. It is really quite amazing what you can learn if you read, I hear. Not that you would ever bother with such mundane matters yourself, I am sure, being a big, tough beast like you are."
"Grrrrr! Which helm is it, Zotharian?"
"The helm you seek will call out to you, if you listen. But be warned, Raavage, the lore says that if you choose the wrong Helm, it will destroy you utterly."
"Are all of these fake, then?" growled Raavage. "Except the one real one?"
"No, they are Helms of different powers, but they are not powers for the likes of you and me to tamper with."
Raavage turned his back on Exetrius and felt along the alcoves with his magical intuition, seeking the call that the Zotharian had said he would feel. He was not sure why he felt that the mage was trustworthy, at least in this matter, since he seldom trusted anyone for anything, but he did. At last, feeling over the second-to-last helm, he felt a small tug. Nothing much, nothing he would have noticed if he were not on high alert, but it was there. He lifted down the helm and began to laugh.
"The power is mine! After I don the Helm, I shall slay all of you and raise you back up, and you shall be my undead slaves!"
He put on the helm, still laughing.
But his laughter soon turned to a scream, as the powers of the helm he had donned began to age him and rip apart the fiber of his being. His fur turned grey,
and then white,
and then all his flesh wasted away until he had nothing but a skeleton remaining.
The body of Lord Raavage fell to the ground, lifeless, his soul sucked from him by the Helm he had chosen.
Even the bones vanished, leaving nothing but the Helm and the armor of the once-mighty lord.
Exetrius and two of his companions came forward, carrying arcane devices.
"It worked, just like you said it would," one said.
"All we had to do was use the device you are holding to alter the flow from that helm just enough to make him choose it," Exetrius said. "It was rather simple after all."
"What does the other device do?" said the other.
"That will close up this cavern and lock it into another dimension, inaccessible to Historicans again. Let's get out of here and activate the device. Raavage is defeated."
Part VI: The Throneroom of Cedrica
"Are you sure the King is in here?" asked Henjin as they stood outside the door. It had been recently repaired, it seemed, and the mortar was barely set around the new hinges. There had been no king in these halls for years, and some work had been necessary to get things back in order. It had been done in a hurry after the various battles had been completed. All of the armies were now coming back to Cedrica, but Henjin had come early, brought by Celdrian, to make sure that the King was ready for coronation in front of the armies of all Historica.
"Yes," said Celdrian. "The King is in here, as everyone has told us."
"Very well, let us enter."
To Henjin's surprise, however, it was not a King who sat upon the golden throne, but a Queen. A young, very beautiful queen.
"Welcome, my friends," the Queen said in a gentle, mellifluous voice. She stood up and came forward to greet them, and they bowed before her.
Henjin proffered his sword to her, and she accepted it kindly. "Your sword, Knight Henjin Quilones, of the Druidi Order, I accept and return to you. Bear it well, for me, Ylspeth, your queen, and may you always fight for the cause of truth, justice, and right."
"I shall, my queen, Your Highness."
"You have done me great favor by bearing tidings to my people, allowing our armies to overcome on the field of battle, and our mages to overcome in the realm of the arcane," continued the Queen. "I shall bestow upon you whatsoever you wish to show my gratitude."
"I wish nothing, my Liege, save to be counted among those loyal to you," said Henjin. "That, and I would like to know how you came to be on the throne, alive, when all the rest of your family is dead."
Queen Ylspeth looked troubled for a moment as grief passed over her face, but then she composed herself and laughed, and it sounded like clear water flowing over rocks, like the the honeyed song of birds. "I shall tell you, then, Druid Henjin, but not here. I am parched, and the wine here in the palace has been awful without the proper government in place. Do you know the Grand Griffon Tavern? The proprietor, Master Gabbold, is an old friend of mine, and he keeps all the best in his cellars. Let us go thither and talk over some drinks."
"Do you mind if I bring a few friends?" asked Henjin.
"Not at all! The more the merrier!"
Part VII: At the Grand Griffon Tavern
"When Henjin said a few friends, I assumed he meant a few friends," said Queen Ylspeth to Princess Galaria as they were pressed by the bodies of many sweaty warriors fresh from battle.
"Well, he has made connection with many folk from the different parts of the kingdom, so getting to know them all will be helpful for you," said Galaria. "In fact, Your Highness, in this room are many of the most important figures in your kingdom, all eager to hear your tale."
A voice somewhere in the room shouted, "Three cheers for Queen Ylspeth!"
A loud cheer erupted from many voices.
Then the room grew silent.
"Thank you all for joining us here. Master Gabbold will be happy to serve you whatever beverage you like, and the tab is on me, so do not stint yourself. Aymeri, I see you drinking tea, but you can get something stronger if you like. Lord Vlad, O-positive? Good. Many of you are wondering just how I came to be here. My father, the late king, was killed by Raavage soon after Revolword was deposed; the rescue party came too late. I, either by good fortune or bad, was away from Cedrica at the time; indeed, I was away from Historica at the time. I was aboard one of my father's ships, sailing from distant land to distant land, exploring the different islands, meeting new peoples. I hope that all of you have a chance to do so someday, as the world is so much larger than you think. It was my father who sent me, perhaps realizing the danger the kingdom was about to face, on my sixteenth birthday off to sea. One day, on an island far, far from here, away off west, I came across news of my father's murder. My mother, too, was cruelly butchered at the hands of Raavage. I wondered, fearing the worst, about the fate of my brother who had been sailing around like me, and the worst was confirmed at another stop. Knowing that I was not prepared to rule, and that to come back then, like my brother had tried to do, would be suicide, I stayed at a western island, training with an order of warrior monks. They taught me their wisdom, gave me access to their library, and trained me in their manner of combat. When I was judged to be proficient, nay, a master of both wisdom and war, I came back. I wish I had been able to return sooner, but it seems I was just in time to inspire the last forces of good to make a stand, and to do so with success. My eternal thanks to you, my brave warriors, for all you have done. I am forever in your debt."
When the queen had finished, those in attendance gave another loud cheer and called for another round.
Lord Gideon, who had arrived late after grooming his horse, got his drink.
And as the talk went on, Laesonar, who had never moved far from the queen, finally managed to strike up a conversation with her.
"So, Queen Ylspeth, are you seeing anyone?"
"Not currently, no," she replied.
"But surely you will need heirs to the throne, right?" the half-elf persisted, putting out the vibe.
"I suppose so, yes, but I have not yet met the right man."
"You can check that off the to-do list, since you have met me, now," he said with a cheeky grin and a wink.
"I am sure I shall have hordes of suitors lining up. Perhaps I shall have to host a tournament to meet the eligible men of the realm, to have the best possible information about making an alliance that is for the best of all of Historica. But first, we must remember the fallen and bury the dead." Queen Ylspeth raised her glass and called out to the assembly, "To all those who fell in the battles for Historica, may the memories of them never die!"
Another cheer arose at that, and more beer was quaffed. "For Steen," a Mitgardian voice called out. "For Steen," came the cry from the others. And the names of the dead were remembered by all, called out by their lords and friends. Master Gabbold was unable to serve any drinks to customers for months after the gathering, and most of the attendees had difficulty waking up in the morning. But Historica was free.
Part VIII: Steen Larsson's Funeral
When the armies of Historica returned to their homes to rebuild their lives anew, some returned whole and strong, others badly wounded and marked for life, others returned under a shroud, and still others returned not at all. In a scene the like of which was repeated all too often around the Guilds, Steen Larsson, the famed Mitagardian lord, was led out for burial after a ceremony at his local stave church. His fellow Lords accompanied him to his final resting place, his face covered by a traditional death mask of the north.
The war was over, the Guilds of Historica were united once more, but still much work remained. The Queen had returned. Now she had to rule.
The end.
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So there you have it, a combined version of the builds of TitusV and myself. We were the top two vote-getters in the voting thread, so one of our stories was likely to become canon, but perhaps this combined version can serve instead. We combined our entries in order to facilitate speeding things up and allow life in the Guilds to go on sooner, perhaps. That is up to the Guild Leaders to decide, though, I suppose.
C&C is welcome, of course, though most of you probably already gave what you were going to give the first time around. It was not a perfect marriage between the two stories, but I think we did a pretty good job of blending the two together (except for the whole yellow/fleshie difference, of course). The pictures are labeled as to who did what, if you could not tell otherwise.
And if you read the whole thing, thanks! And good job.

Be warned! This is a long story. Maybe read it in chunks, or during a particularly boring work meeting. If you aren't familiar with my past stories, it might help to read some back story on my main character Wyndor, a supporting character Charlemagne, their connection, and Charlemagne's start. Less important is reading up on Budd-apest. If you're not scared away yet, here's my story:
With the death of Pjeter, many things had changed in Dalig Ulv. Wyndor had taken over civic responsibilities and his brothers, Mattimeo in particular, had stepped up to help in any way they could. Mattimeo’s specially trained troops had been particularly helpful in defending against the Algus’ constant attacks against the towns of Mitgardia.
When Wyndor received a message from the Sultan of Budd-apest asking for aid, he first thought of some of Mattimeo’s men… or woman as the case was.
“Thank you for being willing to go Constance.”
“Of course, I know we wouldn’t have stopped the Algus if it weren’t for the dragon Charlemagne helped you get. He deserves our help.”
“Yes, and you know I would go myself if I could. But I can’t leave Dalig Ulv undefended right now. The Algus have grown bolder since that blue beam appeared in the sky and I need to be here in case they try to break through the wall. But there’s more that I need to ask you to do. In addition to trying to find Charlemagne, I want you to see if you can find the King’s son.”
“So the rumors are true?”
“They certainly seem to be. The King went missing after the defeat of Revolword, but now his son has returned to claim the throne! Many leaders across Historica have left their homes and the only reason I can think of is that the true Heir has actually returned. But at the same time, the Spire has grown bolder with their ranging parties. You’ll have to travel with just a few men to sneak past them.”
“Don’t worry, we’re good at stealth. If there are any Spire forces we will avoid them.”
“Try to find and save Charlemagne, but also lend aid to the Prince if you can. And take this blade. I had the dwarves line it’s edges with dragon steel. It’s not as effective as a pure dragon forged blade, but if you meet any Algus on your journeys, it should be enough for you to stop them.”
“Thank you Wyndor, I will represent Mitgardia well.”
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Constance traveled across Mitgardia to the East before heading South towards Budd-apest, on the northern edge of Kaliplin. She arrived and asked for an audience with the Sultan who had sent the original message to Wyndor.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, the relationship between our two cities is something we value. If someone has acted against one of your top citizens, then they have acted against Dalig Ulv! Do you know where he was last seen?”
“Unfortunately I do. Some of the Spires enforcers were trying to win him over to their cause right before his disappearance. We’ve done some reconnaissance and now know that their base of operations is in Nocturnus, just on the other side of the Kelra Labyrinths”
“I’ve heard some nasty things about the Labyrinths, but I’ll do whatever I need to. Now, I also needed to ask a favor of you. Wyndor has heard that the Prince has been found. Do you know anything about his possible whereabouts?”
“Ah, fortune may be smiling on your after all. We have had many travelers pass through Budd-apest these days, and all of them have been heading to the Labyrinths. It seems that the Prince has worked out some way through the Labyrinths and is preparing to strike against the Spire. Perhaps you’ll find both Charlemagne and the Prince there. Though I must let you know that my loyalties are to the true King, the Desert King.”
“I’m sure the Desert King will welcome Cedric’s heir. The Desert King has done the land a great favor in driving out those Ulandian usurpers and will be a welcome leader to the faction of Kaliphlin. It’s not as if the Desert King would want to rule the other factions as well, right?”
“Let us hope that all is as you say, I don’t think any of us would welcome another war any time soon.”
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Constance set out from Budd-apest and made her way north through the Rakath Mountains towards the Kelra Labyrinths. As she and her men descended from the mountain pass through a forest of bone trees, a rabbit hopped onto the path.
“Are you A.L.I.C.E.?”
“Wait, did that rabbit just talk?”
“I’m not just a rabbit, I’m the appointed spokesperson and I need to know, are you A.L.I.C.E.?”
“You’ll have to forgive my friend here. He wants to know if you are part of the Allies Looking to Impede Creatures of Evil. A.L.I.C.E. for short.”
“Does that mean you are against Raavage?” she asked while readying her sword.
“Yes, we have long resisted his rule and now that the true king has been found we have someone to rally behind. Now, are you A.L.I.C.E.?”
“Well, my name is Constance, but yes. My men and I are here to find the Prince.”
“Excellent, the main force has already gone ahead. My friend here insisted on one last sweep before going to join them. We must move quickly before the battle begins.”
“Battle?”
“Have you not heard? Prince Alexander has returned! He has gathered a force to be reckoned with and each day more flock to his banner. But we can talk more on the road. We must move with haste if we are to be of any help in this final battle.”
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Constance, her band, and the members of A.L.I.C.E. made their way toward the Kelra Labyrinths.
“Let us pass, sir.”
“Just because Prince Alexander has struck a deal with Lord Ssilyrrlith to allow him to rule Nocturnus after Raavage is defeated doesn’t mean you get to boss me around.”
“Please Reptrian, we are in a great hurry. Let us pass.”
“We labyrinth keepers gain nothing by allowing you to pass freely. It’s not fair that you Minotaurs keep leading them through the maze so quickly. We need prey! At least Kyran gave us fresh meat.”
Recognizing that name after talking with the Sultan, Constance spoke up.
“Wait, you said the vampire, Kyran, has sent people here?”
“Maybe…” the Reptrian admitted reluctantly.
“Have you seen a half-Leander by the name of Charlemagne?”
“We don’t name our prey lady. No need to get attached to what you are about to eat right?”
“Just answer the question!”
“Alright, we did have a few Leanders running around the maze, but most managed to escape our clutches. I think one is still deep in the labyrinth, but I can’t make any promises. And if we catch him, we aren’t giving him back!”
“You’ve done enough stalling Reptrian. Let us pass.”
And so they entered the Labyrinth.
_____________________________________________________________
Although Prince Alexander had worked out a deal to allow his forces to pass through without interference from the Reptrians, that didn’t stop the rest of the monsters that inhabited the labyrinth from trying to kill Constance and her companions.
Thankfully, all in their group were skilled fighters and they were able ward off all attacks.
Constance knew that meeting up with the Prince meant they had no time to spare, but she couldn’t help but look around corners and down alternate routes every chance she could. It was by doing this that she heard a groan coming from one of the dead ends that frequented the maze. She rushed to see what creature needed aid, much to the chagrin of the Minotaur leading them.
Favor was on her side as she realized that against all odds, she had found Charlemagne!
“Back you devils! I won’t let you take me!”
“Charlemagne, it’s okay. We’re friends. I come on behalf of Wyndor and your Sultan.”
“Oh thank goodness! I’ve been fighting off monsters for longer than I can remember. Can you help me get out of here?”
“Yes, but we must hurry!”
______________________________________________________
On their way out of the labyrinth, Constance explained to Charlemagne about the Prince’s return. She also comforted him with the knowledge that the Reptrian knew that a number of Leanders had escaped the labyrinth and that his wife and friends were most likely safe.
Soon after exiting the labyrinth they came upon the Prince’s camp. There was indeed an impressive host of people from all four guilds gathered there. There was a commotion happening on the far end of the camp, so Constance and her companions made their way over there.
“As many of you have heard, my father the King, is dead.”
It seemed the Prince was just getting underway in explaining what was happening. Constance listened closer.
“After Revelword attacked the capital, my father was grievously wounded. We fled the Valyrian forces and made for the coast. My father had heard tell of a great healer who may be able to restore him. We sailed for many days before coming aground on an island. As fortune would have it, it was the very island where this healer lived. He worked for many days to save the King and was able to prolong his life. However, he never regained enough strength to make the return journey. He died three fortnights ago. Before he passed he made me promise to return to our home and re-take the throne.”
At this there was much cheering from the crowd.
“Now we have gathered to defeat Raavage and stop him from finding the Necromancers Helm. Rest up tonight, for tomorrow we attack!”
______________________________________________________________
The rest of the day was spent planning. Prince Alexander summoned many of the faction leaders to his tent to give them their orders. Constance was surprised when a courier asked her to join one of these meetings.
“Thank you Constance, for joining us. Charlemagne and Glorfindel have spoken very highly of you and they have recommended you for this mission.”
“Thank you sire, I would be honored to serve you.”
“Excellent, now as I was saying, if we are going to stop Raavage from getting the Necromancers Helm, we will need to get a small force over the river.”
He indicated the river that stood between us and Raavage main host.
“Our spies tell me that Raavage believes he has located the Helm and will retrieve it tomorrow. We will send out main forces against his army tomorrow at dawn. Meanwhile, a few of us sneak across the river tonight and prepare to ambush Raavage before he can get the Helm.”
Just then, the Desert King himself walked into the tent.
“Majesty.”
“Sire, thank you for coming. I was surprised to hear that you came yourself when I asked for forces from you, but I am honored that you have chosen to fight beside me.”
“You are the King, it is only right that I should fight by your side. And I can think of no greater responsibility than to help protect you as we strike Raavage personally.”
“And I’m sure having a chance to avenge Kaliphlin by killing any Ulandians who might be there doesn’t hurt.”
“Yes,” he said with a glint in his eye. “It was a blow to find out Ulandus had sided with the traitor Raavage. But revenge is not why I am here. Though I will not hesitate to strike down any of the usurpers if they stand in my way.”
“Alright, let’s go over the plan one more time and then we must get across the river.”
_________________________________________________________________________________
As morning dawned, the forces of Raavage lined up on one side of the river opposite the forces of Prince Alexander. There was much rustling as both sides waited to see who would strike first. Finally someone yelled “For Historica!” and the rush across the bridge began.
The armies of Raavage hurried to annihilate the free peoples of the four guilds.
The fight to decide who would rule had begun.
_________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile, deeper into Nocturnus territory Prince Alexander and his small band were approaching a graveyard. It was there that Raavage had discovered the location of the Necromancer’s Helm.
“Guard the yard. Now that I’ve broken the enchantments on the tomb, it shouldn’t be long before I return with the helm. Let no one enter!”
Raavage’s minions, a leader of the Algus, the Drow, Ulandus, and the vampire forces allied with the Spire set about securing the perimeter. As Raavage entered the crypt Prince Alexander struck.
The battle was swift. Although each of Raavage’s men were skilled fighters, they were surprised and outnumbered. In a matter of minutes they all lay dead, scattered across the graveyard.
“Huzzah! We’ve struck a great blow against our enemy, but quickly, we must not let Raavage get the Helm!”
Just then, Raavage exited with the Necromancer’s Helm. He was so blind with greed that he didn’t even look around the Helm to see who was there to greet him.
Alexander leapt forward and with a decisive blow, ended the life of the tyrant Raavage.
The Prince turned as all present cheered. The war was over! The Necromancer’s Helm had been kept from the clutches of those wishing to use it for evil!
But then, the unthinkable happened. The Desert King turned on the Prince and stabbed him. Gasps of shock were heard all across the graveyard.
“Now, I shall claim my rightful throne! My kingdom of old spanned from shore to shore, now it shall again!” He placed the Necromancer’s Helm on his head.
“No!” cried Osric. “I fought for you, how could betray us like this?”
“Sire!” cried Charlemagne, “You didn’t have to do this, Kaliplin would have forever been yours! Why did you kill the Prince?”
“There is no other ruler except for I! I am immortal. Everyone else who claims a throne across Historica is only a usurper and a rebel. I am the rightful ruler. All shall bow to me!”
“You will never convince the peoples to follow you!”
"You will pay!"
“Hasn’t this day proved to you that the free peoples will stop at nothing to remain so?”
“No one will be able to stop me.”
And with that the Desert King muttered under his breath and the fallen Prince rose again. But he was no longer a healthy human being. He has a mindless zombie, now under the control of the Desert King.
“Grrrr!”
“You see, I will turn everyone you’ve ever lost against you. I will raise an army that can never die! No one will be able to resist me. But take solace in this. After the rebels have been dealt with, the land will know my mercy. I am a sympathetic king when my people submit to my rule.”
“Are we all to become your mindless puppets today?”
“No. I will allow you all to live. Take this news back to your lands. Let them know that anyone who accepts my rule will be welcome by my side. All others should fear for their life or flee this land.”
And from that day on, the four guilds were ruled by the Desert King, Ark’Mora Raa.

An Excerpt from Recorin Orbi | Volume 467 | Cometi Cycle 7634 | Oredurin (World Chronicler) Arcturin I
"The tunnel was long. Longer than the funeral and mourning period of a Wredurin put together of darkness. This is to be expected of a disused exit from our ancient city, but having left our would for the upper in prior events via other routes, I did not expect this way to extend as it did. A band of 9 left the city, comprised of the Oredurin, the Ferdurin, an assistant Durin, and 6 soldiers who were willing to adventure. The cycle of 7634 draws to a close as we seek the Resistance of Nocturnus, to chronicle them and aid in what ways we can against Raavage, a monster of unknown origin. I'm sure if the body is intact, the Aerdurin will expect me to bring it back. The place we emerged was one of little activity, with nary a creature in sight. The march began immediately, and for the first 4 days, we saw no one, except for a large insect and a rider, high in the sky. (For more on this insect, please consult Recorin Flori V. 1698)
An Excerpt from Recorin Flori | Volume 1698 | Cometi Cycle 7634 | Ferdurin (Flora+Fauna Chronicler) Casoreon III
"This volume is dedicated to the observation of all available info regarding the as of yet unnamed, but ride-able large, quadwinged insect seen shortly after the exit from the tunnels on the way to the Resistance of the Upper's Nocturnus. This insect can apparently support a rider and a decent amount of baggage, as evidenced by the apparent cargo of the specimen observed in flight. More data when sighted again."
An excerpt from Recorin Orbi | Volume 468 | Cometi Cycle 7634 | Oredurin Arcturin I
"The road to the resistance camp, deep in the southern swamps, is a long one, but the journey was uneventful for the purposes of this recorin. The innumerable creatures, sentient and not, are being recorded by Casoreon and the assistant Durin as fast as they can, while retaining our standard. They have even the help of one of the soldiers, who has taken an interest in the various trees of the upper."
"After several weeks we arrived at our destination and made ourselves known to the leaders of the resistance. The one called The Lord of Dragons seemed very intrigued by the methods and details of the recorins made so far, and desired copies of any to be had upon certain dragon species. After a waiting period of several days in which the leaders debated this new race, unbeknownst for so long, our band of Inani was assigned to a raid upon an outpost of the Spire, Raavage's forces, named for the obsidian spike which holds Nocturnus, and all of the Upper if he achieves victory, in an iron grip. The raid was carried out swiftly, with cries of "For Nocturnus! THE RESISTANCE!" And "For Historica!" Ringing through the halls as the soldiers from every guild destroyed every spire adherent found within. I remained in the distance, with the other commanders of different forces. The raid was led by a captain of Shadowmere, but, for the first time in thousands of Cycles, an Inani fought in the upper."
"This series of events repeated itself as the Armies of free Historica marched towards the spire. The outposts grew to large castles, containing hundreds of spire soldiers, and more spire troops met us in the open field. After our second assault, the Inani were formally accepted into the ranks of the Free Peoples of Nocturnus."
"After weeks of constant fighting, only the Spire itself remained. Today the entire army was called into one assembly, and as heralds spread throughout the crowd they prepared to read from a scroll written by the leaders of free Nocturnus. Suddenly, Lord Vladvius of Shadowmere himself, a warrior and leader like no other, appeared on a raised platform, a hollow cone before him amplified his voice, as he spoke these words, which are recorded unaltered, 'Nocturnians! Avalonians! Mitgardians! Kaliphinites! We are all historicans! And today we will march against the last unholy peak of Raavage, The Spire itself! We face death and destruction today, but we do this to secure the future of Historica! FOR THE NEWFOUND KING!' At that he stepped away from the cone and an Orc let out a guttural war cry which will live in the minds of all present forever. The cry was echoed by the whole army, as it surged towards the Spire."
An Excerpt from Recorin Flori | Volume 1955 | Cometi Cycle 7634 | Ferdurin Casoreon III
"Raavage is a creature like no other. He wears heavy armor and a helm which threatens all of the Upper, yet under that helm he somehow has room for 6 horns, which must be flexible in order to avoid breaking. It is also possible that they break off and regenerate. His features are wolv-ish, but he lacks claw of any significance. Swords (2) seem to be his weapon for this battle, as he mows down many ranks, then vanishes to some high tower, according to an eagle. (See Recorin Flori V. 1820)"
An Excerpt from Recorin Orbi | Volume 468 | Cometi Cycle 7634 | Oredurin Arcturin I
"On the peak of the tower, known as Raavage's crown, the Lord of the Spire and his loyal adherent Lord Osiris Vorn, faced down some of the greatest warriors Historica has ever seen. Vladvius of Shadowmere, Anfauglir a defector of the spire, Finn a great axe-warrior of Mitgardia, Henjin of House Quilones, an Avalonian lord, Aymeri one of Kaliphin's High-lords, and one Oredurin who's battle skills were unproven. They faced off, neither side making the first move, until Raavage lept into the air..."
C&C welcome, and I hope everyone who appeared in the story liked their representation. Some decorations are missing from the warriors in the stand off due to the time involved in making new decorations for the Mecabricks library (I added the Lord Vlad ones specifically for this), but I hope to eventually make it so everyone who builds digitally has easy access to a figure of all the main characters in Historica.
3D Viewers: Emergence Outpost Raid Raavage's Crown

In the far north of Mitgardia, countles tombs are scatered, Legend says, one of the catacombs holds the Necromancers Helm. The wearer of the helm can summon and command legions of undeads.
In one of the underground tomb, Raavage is overwatching his minions, as they sacrifices the prisoners. The inscriptions, on the doors says: "Blood must be spilled, to unlock these halls secrets". Raavage believed, that the helm is in this catacomb,
- Soon... All of Historica will bow down befor me... - Raavage smiled- Victory shall be mine!
One of his cultist arrived from the surface. He quicly went to Raavage.
- My lord! Apologys to interrupt you, but I have ill news. A massive Alliance force arrived, and they are searching the catacombs for us.
- Fear not my minion - Raavage turned to his cultist, the smile didn't faded from his face. - Moments from now, no one can stop me.
- But my lord... "She" leads them...
The smile finally disappeared from Raavages face.
- "She"is dead... - answered, while tried to be calm. - "She is just a pretender, not more.
- But my lord. - he gulped. - She managed to rally all of historica behind her back. Are you sure, she isn't the Fate Driven?
Raavage lost his temper. he replied with and angry tone:
- You dare question my word? -Raavage shouted at the cultist. the hands of the cultist shaked, he almost droped the torch. - But if you interested so badly, let my tell you, the story of this... Fate Driven. It started twenty years ago, when Draconius was still the High King of Historica. Unfortunately, he discovered my arrival, and to prevent it, he seeked out everyone in Historica, who can tell him more about me. Only those damn druids in Avalonia were able to "help" him. They showed him, the Pool of Wisdom...
- I heard from the lake. It can fulfim wishes, but onlyfrom those, who not wishes only to them self, but for the greater good. - replied the cultilst.
- If you interrupt my again, i will separate your head from your body! - Raavage was really angry. - As i said, he arrived at the pool. He wished for something, that will save his kingdom, from the comming darkness. As he finished his wish, a child started crying, next to them, in the reeds. It was an infant, a girl. Everyone believed, that she will be the promised savior of Historica. She was granted with the name: Aleesia, an ancient elvish name, which means Fate Driven.
- Draconius tasked his most loyal knight, to hide her. Not even the king has know, where she will be hided. The knight was granted with the royal ring. Only giving to her, when the times come. Almost two decade had passed, but I found them in the Kaliphlin town of Kusbara. My men raided the town, enslaved every one, including the knight and the girl. They were brought to me, where I killed them, with my own hands... - Raavage genty kicked the sack next to him. - I always bring this with me, asa reminder, to no one oppose me.
- My Lord. - another cultist joined the conversation. - We run out of prisoners, yet, the ritual to open the halls secrets not yet done.
Raavage let out a pained sigh. Then he grabs the dagger from the telt of the cultist, and stabbed in him the face. Then he dragged the dead cultist, next to the sacrificial pit. Blood poured out from the empty eye socket, in to the pit. Raavage sightet once more, then he turned to his minions:
- Looks like w still need more blood... - he looked in to the faces of his companions.They were terrefied. - Who will willingly sacrifices himself, for the greater good?
Raavage temper was once more tested, when another of his soldier came to him, with news:
- Sire... -he started, but he was harshly interrupted by Raavage.
- If there will be anotherbad news, I swear,allof you will regret the day when you were born. - he stoped for a moment. - Whaat?
- Alliance troops are approaching from the corridor...
Raavage's anger quicky gone, and a grim smile take it's place:
- Good... let the lambs come to the slaughter house... - he stoped, for a brief moment to think about the opportunity. Then he quckly turned to his troops: -Ready your selfs!

Somewhere in Mitgardia. A noble man and his bodyguard approaching a quarry. The place is filled with the noisees of pickaxes and hammers. As they entered the construction site, the noble man asked the first dwarf, next to a campfire.
- Good day master dwarf. I'm Lord Aran Durwell. I'm here, to inspect, the ordered golem, against the Spire. Can I speak with the overseer?
The dwarf turned around. Took out his pipe, from his mouth, and greeted the noble man.
- Good day Lord Durwell! Of course, let me introduce my humble self: I'am Turfir Dimguard, I'am the overseer here.- the dwarf bowed down. - So.. Can we start, the stroll?
http://IMG_8203 by Miklós Neszt, on Flickr
The noble man noded. Turfir took a a sip from his pipe, turned around, and started walking around the construction site.
- Any question lord Durwell? -asked the dwarf.
- I don't know anything. about this profession. I don't really know, what a golem is. What's even the difference between a regular and a siege golem?
- The golem is animated matter. Usually something, that can be shaped. It will be awakened by magical words, and it will serve its master. The difference is simple, siege golems are larger, got smaller legs, so it can keep its balance. This golems right arm is a huge mallet. It can be used both smashing buildings, or smashing infantry.
- And it's other hand? - Aran pointed to the unfinished side of the golem.
- We will shape that arm, to be a hand. So it can hold another weapon, or grab with it. Like boulders to throw it, or soldiers to crush them.
- I understand. I see, there are not only dwarf workers here. Can the human workers keep up, with your fellow dwarf workers?
-They are a great help for us. They tear down the stone roughly, so the others can shape it to its final form. We get fresh supplies every day, from the nerby town.
- And that dwarf over there? -Aran pointed on the ledge, behind the unfinished golem. - What's he doing?, I don't see any pickaxe or hammer in his hands.
- Oh, he is Orif Earthcaller. He is preparaing the binding on the Blood of the Mountain. Take a look on that gem! Marvelous, never saw bigger, but this isn't my first golem shaping. If the earthcallers give us, to build a weapon, our cause must be righteous!
- I dont want to be paranoid, but if we have a powerful crystal, should we more guards here, to protect it?
- Don't worry mylord, Mitgardia sent his best soldiers, to protect the Blood of the Mountain, and us. Besides, we can defend our self too.
- And why a golem? I mean, I don't want to disparage your, and your employees work...
- Ah.. no problem mylord. You need different siege weapons, for different tasks. Ladders for climbing, catapults, ballistas for throwing. This siege golem is for all tasks. Plus, we heard, that the Spire has giant suporters.
- Good to hear it. -Durwells sightet in relief. -And, what can you tell me, when it will be finished?
- I think, it will be finished, lesser then a week.
- Fabulous! Then i take my leave. Don't want to steal more time from you.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EDIT: Finally got home early, and had a chance to take pictures from the finished golem. Enjoy:

Somewhere in the Mitgardian mountains. Travelling alone can get lonely, but sometimes unwanted company can be worse...
Messengers have been sent out all over Historica announcing the return of the heir, and an important meeting of free-Historica's leaders to plan the next move against Raavage and his advancing forces. But naturally The Spire could not sit back and let this happen, as many messengers as possible must be stopped.
Walking across a rocky path through Mitgardian mountains, the lone messenger never expected to see much more than a bear or two. But arriving at a small bridge in the path, all of a sudden an icy wind starts to pick up, most peculiar, ice storms are usually reserved for the depths of winter, not the beginning of spring, the snow had even started to melt and the streams flow again... But it did not take long for the messenger to realize this was no ordinary snow storm as the frozen wind started to swirl around him, the beast he used to carry supplies quickly bucked, running off into the storm. He was alone, on the small wooden bridge, with the raging storm swirling around him, leaving a clearing in what seemed to be the eye of a tornado.
Although this was only the beginning, when out of he storm came two men, charging at him. It began to make sense, the men were Spire soldiers, and for the storm? An unlikely alliance, it must have been conjured using magic to stop the messenger, the Algus had joined the Spire. With the surrounding storm he had nowhere to run, knowing the importance of the message he was carrying in his satchel, the only option was to fight.
It was a valiant effort, but eventually he was outnumbered. Knowing he had lost, seconds before the final blow was dealt, he cast the leather satchel into the flowing stream below, down the waterfalls, in the hopes that someone, somewhere would find it...
The surviving Spire men walked away from the scene, as the swirling storm died down, leaving behind them only bloodied bodies, and a lost message...
So that was my first entry for Category A of Challenge V, this one for The Spire, stopping Historica from uniting against Raavage at all cost. This was fun to build, and I was happy yo use the Tauntaun in a Mitgardia build again
-Thanks for looking!

After the recent events in Beggar's Inn, as many messengers as possible had been dispatched, to every corner of the guilds. One messenger, going near the Frozen Beyond to inform the small outposts there for the peril of the coalition of the Algus and the Spire, was not that smart. Not being a native Mitgardian, he grew very cold, and thus he made a fire, out in the open. From a nearby Algus outpost, a Can'gru Chariot was dispatched quickly. Those strong but quick beasts had been cultivated by the Algus long ago, and were used nowadays not only for meat, but also as mounts and beasts of burden. the Can'gru, even though they look so herbivorelikely cute, always hunger for fresh meat. The poor messenger is their incentive to bring their Algus masters to their superiors, to hand them the message.
Algus interception by David de Rijke, on Flickr

As the Black Spire gathers power, a new hope for Historica is discovered--the High King's heir! Riders were dispatched quickly and quietly from the Beggar's Inn to the four Guilds and then to all corners of free Historica to spread the word. Thorir carries this news through the snow-covered forests in the foothills of Mt. Mitgard towards the Bay of Storms.
Woohoo! I built! This was a bit of a panic MOC thrown together this week. I had a wyvern going for this, but the darned thing was getting way to big to fit on 256 studs, so that'll get put in a freebuild or something at some point... Also, new camera!
C&C always appreciated!

My main goal for this little build was to experiment with some less common colors in the buildings, and a few new techniques. I’m pretty pleased with how the SNOT design of the dark red tudor building worked out. Credit for the cobblestone technique goes to Mike.
A Mitgardian courier brings the long awaited news of the Heir of Cedrica, and Daydelon rejoices.
More pictures.
Thanks for looking

I think, I don't need any story for the following pictures. The Title says it all.
Maybe, the courier's decoy worked too well. He needs find some clothes, or atleast, some leaves, befor he arrives his destination.
And.. a "18brickplus" picture:

Sadly, not every courier made it. One of them was captured by the soldiers of the Black Spire in Midgardia:
-Spit it out! -the orc slaped the face of the courier. -tell me wat was yur destination? Where is da letter, Answer me!
-Boss! I found da letter in his backpack! -the other red orc raised a letter in the air. -But i can't read it!
-It dosen't matter anymore. Back to da camp! One of da pointy ears surely can read it.
-And whats wit da prisoner Boss? -the orc looked to the courier, while he stacked the letter in his pants.
-Spill his guts! And leave him for da crows. Serve as a warning toall who wish to fight againts da Black Spire!

Somewhere among the shores of Avalonia...
A rider sent from General Aeldric of Vanhorn races the soldiers of The Spire to send word to Albion and the surrounding reaches word of the True King's return, the True Heir to Cedrica!
The Orcs of the coastal regions have always bore crude weapons and armor. Not nearly on level of that of Soldiers directly from The Spire.
The rider must be diligent, swift, and unrelenting on his horse, for the forces of Ravaage do not falter.
(Welp, this is my Category A (Riders of Historica) Entry! It's Alliance side. CC Welcome!)

A NOTE to all those who have not signed up yet: Please still do so!!! Even if you feel as if the challenge has already started, there is plenty of time to build for all three categories! Ulandus needs members the most, followed by High Council, then the Desert King.
choose by skaforhire, on Flickr
Kaliphlin Civil War
Book 2, Challenge IV
Starts March 1st, Deadline for Category A &B: July 1st
Aftermarket products that cannot be replicated in LEGO are accepted, but should not be the defining element of a MOC. Weapons / armor from aftermarket sources is always fine.
(Final Preludes will be up soon (ish), but I thought we could get rolling on general signups.)
Chapters so far:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
The Civil War is a three way battle between the Ulandians, the Desert King, and the High Council of Kaliphlin. You may sign up for the civil war on this page. The roster is at the bottom of the post. When signing up, please note your first and second choice. We will attempt to put everyone on their first choice team, but if the teams get too uneven, some people may get their second choice.
choosingsides by skaforhire, on Flickr
There will be three categories to this challenge. The winning and runner-up side of each category will earn points towards determining which faction won the civil war.
Category A: Consequences
In this category you will show something that has changed since the war started. For example, It could be a MOC about a boy becoming a man because he has to work his dad’s farm, a MOC of a person turning to a life of crime after their livelihood has been destroyed, refugees, the aftermath of a battle, etc… Anything that shows how a individual(s) life has changed because of the war. The build should clearly represent a defining moment in a person or person(s) life. Story is not a major factor here, but it may help you clarify for the readers.
Restriction: 32x32 studs with reasonable overhang.
Challenge B Unlimited Build / Story Challenge
The story of sir Brick-a-lot. It is your job to chronicle Sir Brick-a-lot’s journey in the Kaliphlin Civil War. Sir Brick-a-lot can be your sig fig, or another fig you used for the war (no, don’t actually name him Sir Brick-a-lot). The fig does not have to be a soldier, but you should have at least a couple builds to tell their story during the Kaliphlin Civil War. Each side will be judged on the quality of the builds presented and the quality of their Heroes’ tales.
If you use your Category C builds in your storyline, there is a limit of ½ of your builds may be from Category C builds. IE: If you want to use 3 of your category C builds, you must have three additional MOCs to add to your story.
Category C – Dynamic War and Map Challenge
Please see this thread for now on the rules. This is the actual "game" thread. It has links to the mini-challenges for each week. Please do not sign up on the preliminary rules thread, please sign up here. Also, all discussion for Category C should happen in the category C threads, that is where you will report MOCs for that category also.
Category D - Victory Parade
Although it may be premature, each side is throwing a victory parade in their regional capital. Builders should put together a parade in no more than six pictures. There should not be more than six parade groups (bands, floats, military units, Zem Zem go-cart formations, etc...) in your parade. Although this category will impact the outcome of the war the least, it does show to some extent the pride your side has. There is no limitation in sizes, but remember to photograph carefully for detail so that all of your parade is covered well. Finally, there should be a final picture that shows the Grand Marshall of the Parade's stand with all the dignitaries inspecting the parade. The winner of this category will be known as the Grand Master of Ceremonies of Kaliphlin.
LDD - LDD will be allowed in Category C and D, but not in Category A or B (as it has always been with official challenges). Since Category C is voted on by the public, there may be people that have some bias towards digital bricks, but we will let that play out.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
Supporters declared:
Ulandus
Goliath
Gunman
Infernum
Kai NRG
Garmadon
Narbilu
Andrew Spader
Lord Robin
Alfadas
Elostirion
Gabe
Bacon Potatoes
Kayne
Rconn0
Marcu22
Rogue Angel
Dragonfire
Igunnuk Eelu
Desert King
Hammerhand
MKJoshA
Tomsche
Lord Vladivus
MassEditor
Emma
Sir Gareth
Blufiji
Disco86
LordDan
Jacob Nion
Robuko
The Lego Dwarf
DrCogg
Umbra-Manis
Brick Man Studios
Captain Braunsfeld
High Council
Carson Haupt
De Gothia
Gedren_y
Soccerkid6
LittleJohn
Mike S
TheUtilityBelt
Gideon
Maxim I
mrcp6d
SarahJoy
Mccoyed
Bregir
Adair
Jakorin
Scarst
BrickCurve
Graham Gidman
MiloNelsiano
J031 Ty3r
IF I missed someone from the other thread, please let me know.

Hereby my entry for war zone 12. If I should win, I6 should be the next warzone.
Unaware of the treaty signed between Ulandus and the High Council to secure food supplies to Ras-el-Akhen, the Desert King's commanders have sent out patrols to secure strategic points in the Inner Loop. This particular patrol has been tasked with looting a grain silo to fill the supply trains for the Desert King Army.
Mummy corporal: "The Ulandian troops are holed up in the city trying to hold the gates... They will not have the troops to guard every little silo... This will be a piece of cake!"
Mummy soldier: "Those flags, sir... aren't they...?"
Mummy corporal: Sure does look like High Council colours... but that makes no sence... What the ....?!?
High Council Sergeant: Hands up, you dustbags! SOLDIERS, TO ME! I wouldn't suggest reaching for that weapon, you piece of Desert Scum!
Protecting the food supplies by Beorthan, on Flickr
The Desert King will not see his supplies bolstered this day. Even facing vastly superior numbers, the High Council will keep up the fight for the Republic and for the people!
And without figs.
Protecting the food supplies by Beorthan, on Flickr
As always, C&C is welcome. Those boardwalks were fun to build, but posing the soldiers on the afterwards was a pain in the #¤#%!

Warzone 1: The Arkbri Skirmishes (E7)
A vast network of irrigration canals are providing water to the food production in the Arkbri valley. Not all of the crops have failed, but the increasing presence of soldiers from all factions have caused many farmers to flee and abandon their fields.
Here, patrolling soldiers from Barqa have encountered a scouting band of mountain mummies who have been cornered against an irrigration canal and quickly surrender when their leader has been killed.
My entry for the High Council to Warzone 1: The Arkbri Skirmishes, in Guilds of Historica Book II, Challenge IV

In a mansion in the north western parts of Kaliphlin, a group of councilors from the High Council have barricaded themselves, fearing for their lives. Outside, a band of brigands are preparing an assault on the mansion, and a retinue of soldiers have vowed to protect the councilors.
The Prey by Beorthan, on Flickr
Outside, the attack has started and Beorthan, our knight in shining armour, is leading the defense of the mansion.
The attacking force carries no distinguishing marks, giving no clues as to who may be behind the attack, be it Ulandus, the Desert King, or simple brigands.
The Battle by Beorthan, on Flickr
Left to right, the warriors are:
Beorthan, Lord of the Trifork; his bodyguards, Cassius and Marcus; his friend Lord William Drake; and Tauro, his tracker and scout. In the back, the marksman Brogar is taking shots at the enemies.
These seasoned warriors are holding out against the superior numbers of the attackers, and everything points towards a victory for our heroes.
The Warriors by Beorthan, on Flickr
An overview of the build:
Overview by Beorthan, on Flickr

If winning, I pick E2 as new warzone.
The boy's arm was already broken. Osric's men did not care if a prisoner got hurt as long as he was still able to speak. "Listen boy. I do not care about your politics down here. All I'm interested in is the loot." He looked at the rat holding the shaduf, an ancient and primitive well sweep that was used in the southern lands since time immemorial. The exiled rat king could se the desire in his soldier's eyes to just drown this foolish spy they had catched early in the morning.
"I'm tired of asking. Now simply tell me all about strength and position of your battaillon and all of this will quick be over."
The young soldier's voices was bruised from the blood pressing on his head:"You're going to kill me either way. I don't talk to vermin like you."
Osric made a last desultory attempt to convince him:"Oh boy. There are so many ways to die. And some are not very pleasant. I could simply let my men gnaw off your fett and throw the pitiful rest of you into the river."
"Nocturnian scum! Your mummy king will soon return to hell. Now end this, I am ready for it."
Osric had lost interest in his prisoner. There were sure still other spies around to catch. Perhaps some who were easier to intimidate. He looked to the rat holding the sweep:"He seems thirsty. It was an uncomfortable morning for him. Give him water."

In the lush, dense undergrowth of the Arkbri Valley, the easiest way to manouver is often through the streams and irrigations canals crisscrossing the valley. There, vegetation and rock outcroppings are not hindering movement, although leeches, bugs, and the occasional crocodile can make it an unpleasant experience.
Sand King Patrol by Beorthan, on Flickr
This morning, a Desert King patrol is scouting for hidden routes to the Quenscross, as part of a concerted effort to covertly move forces towards the expected battle of that strategic chokepoint.
Little do they know that their patrol is a about to meet an abrupt and violent end...
Ambush by Beorthan, on Flickr
With a marksmen posted on the cliffside and two seasoned fighters on the ground, Beorthan reckons the ambush will leave the patrol with little chance.
Overview by Beorthan, on Flickr
My entry for the High Council to Warzone 1: The Arkbri Skirmishes, in Guilds of Historica Book II, Challenge IV
I shall await coordination with my faction before chosing which zone to attack next (should I win). Edit: Next warzone: E8, Queenscross
On a side note, the description for this area reminded me of the "green zone" around the Helmand river in Afghanistan, so that was my inspiration. The patrols there often walk in the channels.

My entry into the Guilds of Historica Book II Challenge III Category B - Deceiving Elves
For the Dwarves!
The elves worked diligently and efficiently to help stop a dwarven invasion on Avalonia and the Drow, to prevent war and promote peace. They sent out scouts on their newly tamed wargs and built towers to detect any sign of dwarves, and to stop them. Unfortunately, despite their efforts, it all came to nothing.
The dwarves secretly mined underneath their very nose, and gained entry into Avalonia, ready to take war on the Drow..."
Overview:
Phew! I can't believe I finished it in time! Thanks to the extension of the deadline and a canceled family gathering, I had enough time to finish my second entry into the GoH Challenge. Once again I experimented in one of Grant Davis's techniques that he created in his creation "Undermining." (If you have not checked out Grant's creation yet, what are you waiting for!? Go give it a look! ;) ) Tons of fun to build, making all the little sections of rock pieces fit together was so much fun (although very delicate)!
The details on the top were also fun to add, I finally got to use my wargs! :D Even though wars in LOTR are evil, I always though they were kinda cool, so if you could tame them...they could be quite lethal and well worth the effort. ;)
All in all, a decent build, there are a few more things I would have liked to try if I had more time, but deadlines are deadlines. ;)
Thanks for viewing, and enjoy!
Soli Deo Gloria!
~Matthew~

Book II - Challenge III - Category A - Ancestors and Heroes
For the Dwarves!
"The young dwarf kneeled in front of the memorial of his father, honoring and paying respect to him. He prayed for guidance, courage, and protection in the coming war."
My entry into the Guilds of Historica Book II Challenge III - Category A. - Ancestors and Heroes.
I had tons of fun making this entry, I experimented with the wall technique that Grant Davis made up in his "Free Fish" creation. I loved the wall design, and recreated it with a few differences/added things to make it unique. The floor in front of the statue also lights up, unfortunately I wasn't able to capture it to well in the picture. But hopefully you get the gist of it. :)
Edit: Here is a better picture of the lighting so I can claim the UoP credits
I have another entry in the works, hopefully I can finish it in time for the contest (ends on the 11th, 2 days!)! BTW, it also uses another one of Grant Davis's techniques, they are so good! :D
Enjoy!
P.S. Today (or yesterday, depending on your time zones) also marks my 2 year Anniversary on EB :)
Soli Deo Gloria!
~Matthew~

"Bring over those barrels of ale and place them with the rest!"
"And after that, sir?"
"After that, fetch the bottles."
"Yes, sir!"
"I have the bottles of ale, sir, now what?"
"Place those two with the barrels, and pour that one over everything."
"But, sir, why would we waste ale like that?"
"Ah, you'll see. Once the torch runner ignites the barrels, the fire will devour the wood and alcohol and grow rapidly. Speaking of which, where's that torch bearer?"
"Here, sir!"
"Ah, there you are! Now's the big moment, light the fuse!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Now, run!"
"Did you hear that rumbling?"
"Nay, I bet it's just your stomach, what'd you eat..."
"No, the ground grows hot and unstable, something is not right, we must evacuate the tunnel."
"Yes, sir, I'll give the word."
"Quickly, quickly now. We must evacuate the tunnels!" Hurry, hurry!"
"We're running as fast as we can! It's rather hard with such short legs."
"We're almost... ahhh!!!!
"Someone, help me! Somebody, help me!"
"Ah, settle down, you'll be aright. I'm coming for you."
And so, Sir Gareth's plan to build a tunnel beneath the dwarves' own tunnel was a success. When the support beams burned down, they brought the dwarves tunnel tumbling down with them, leaving not only the tunnel, but the dwarves' plan in utter pieces. Thanks to Sir Gareth's cunning, and help from his good friend Edward von Graystar, peace in not just Mitgardia, but all of Historica, has been upheld.

Some years ago . . .
"I still don't see why you couldn't have apprenticed with one of our own stonemasons. Dwarves are famous for their sculpture! Famous!" grumbled Hafþór Stronghammer as they strode through the Contemplative Gardens. Ráðgeir kept silent. He'd heard this rant before, more than once.
Hafþór continued, "I don't like it! I know, you spent your year in the cold, and so I have no say in the matter, but I don't like it! And I won't have you living among these greedy thieving merchants, worshipping no gods but the gold coin, with no thought of the spirits of your ancestors! No son of Stronghammer will be corrupted! No, you must have your own spirits, proper Dwarven heroes, even in this heathen land."
"Yes, Da," mumbled Ráðgeir. They reached their goal: a just-completed Dwarven shrine, carved by Ruadh's finest sculptors to Hafþór's exacting specifications: an icon of the All-Fathers, embodiment of all the warriors that came before. Ráðgeir noticed a few small, scrubby-looking flowers planted at the base.
"Edelblau, Da? Really? Surely the All-Fathers deserve something more regal! I know it's the desert, but I'll be here to maintain things!"
Hafþór stopped and gazed intently at his son. Ráðgeir was confused by the look of sadness that crossed his father's face, before the old man scrubbed his hands against his face and down his beard. Quietly, he said, "Son. The All-Fathers will always be here for you, even when our people are farthest from your thoughts."
Hafþór abruptly turned away and stalked back to the inn, leaving his son to scramble behind him.
Present Day . . .
The clan had issued a call to war, and Ráðgeir knew he must answer it. Just before he began his journey, he paid a visit to the Shrine of the All-Fathers. As Ráðgeir approached the shrine, he noticed the the small edelblau flowers stretching out from the statue, glistening in the sun, and felt guilty. It had been over four years since Ráðgeir came to Ruadh, and over four years since he had visited the shrine. His father had been right to plant the humble, hardy flowers; they'd thrived on their own, without Ráðgeir's attentions.
The icon of the Great All-Fathers, with his piercing lapis-lazuli eyes, loomed over him. As Ráðgeir approached, he noticed the bare feet. Embarrassment flashed in his mind -- Bare feet! How uncouth! -- and then he was instantly shamed. The traditions of his people were old, and worthy, and not deserving of scorn. One felt the call of the mountains, the stone, the mines, through the feet; it was an experience Ráðgeir hadn't felt in a long time, and suddenly he longed for it.
He trudged onward, and then stopped abruptly. Ráðgeir stared at the stone statues clustered at the base of the shrine. In the tradition of his clan, he had carved an orante figure to pray in his stead, while he went back to Mitgardia and battle. He'd always thought of this shrine as his own, patiently and beneficently watching over him from afar. This cluster of stone statues brought the abrupt realization that while he had been carousing with fellow Ruadhi students for the past several years, other dwarves had been properly venerating the ancestors, properly attending the shrine he'd pushed out of his mind. These orante figures were a harsh reminder of his neglect to his faith, his traditions, and his people.
Ráðgeir didn't look forward to war, but he had grudgingly answered the call. Now, as he gazed upon the shrine, he realized it was past time to return home to his people, to his clan.
Notes: The concept of the orante figures is borrowed from ancient Sumer. A few of my favorite Sumerian orante figures are at the Menil in Houston and the Louvre.

Somewhere in Mitgardia, near the grand city of Amortug, a Leander enters a tavern and orders a goblet of wine.
Clad in dark, earthly colours atypical of his people, he leans discreetly on the halfwall to a booth inhabited by two dwarves, wetting their tongues with wine, and falls silent.
His thoughts linger on his own kind, who, with Royal traditions in their blood and myths, are now shattered throughout the Guilds of Historica, living lives far from the lordly stations of their past. Yet, still they maintain a creed of royalty to preserve and uphold peace in the lands of Historica, once said to have been ruled by a mythical line of Leander kings, before Man, Elf, and Dwarf arrived. It is but a few weeks past his Duke called him in and warned him of the risk of war between Mitgardia and Avalonia. A war that was likely to spread, and bring death and destruction upon all free people. A war that should be avoided at all costs...
At the clash of two cups, he is brought out of his musings and back to present reality and the task at hand. Through the bustling sound of a seacaptain boasting his provess to the barmaid, and the general commotion of the inn, the burly voice of the younger dwarf becomes clear to his feral ears.
Younger dwarf: "Cheers to victory and success of our ruse! When our miners break through to Avalo...."
The older dwarf sends a harsh glance and interrupts.
Older dwarf: "Hush, you fool - Would you have the whole world hear of our plans?"
He lowers his voice and smiles. "Yet, I agree with your sentiment, good fellow..."
The younger dwarf follows suit and lowers his voice, after looking over his shoulder.
Younger dwarf: "None be listening here, and there aren't a single elf amongst the patrons... Anyway, the tunnels are almost done - none will be able to stop us now."
Older dwarf: "Ah, you are right in that - let us raise our cups once more. To victory over the Drow in Avalonia. We shall show them underground elves how true tunneling is done.
He raises his cup in a toast.
Younger dwarf: "When we emerge upon their lands, the Drow will fall and the Avalonians will tremble before our might!"
Spying isn't necessarily a complicated process. Sometimes, the combination of a keen ear and a slip of the tongue is all that is needed. And as anybody will know, no ears are keener than those of a Leander, and no tongues slippier than a dwarf in his drinks....
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Overview picture:

A message to the moderators, something went wrong with the title when I pressed post, it was meant to be- Bk II Ch III: Mens Quest: Category C: The Diplomats of Anrarr Could you fix this please?
Hassius Meduseld, a cartographer from Barqa returning from Mitgardia to Durok lighthouse where a meeting of diplomats and advisers to the lord of Anrarr await the detailed maps of the Mitgardian coast.
Meanwhile, the messengers of Anrarr are engaged in a heated conversation with the dwarf lord Andrix.
Messenger- My lord I bring you an invitation to a meeting in Kaliphlin concerning the possibility of a war with the Avalonian Elves.
Lord Andrix- Very well I will attend, I hope the dwarfs of Mitgardia may gain valuable allies through this. Where does the meeting take place?
Messenger- The meeting takes place at Durok Lighthouse near the northern border of Kaliphlin.
Lord Andrix- Very well, now return to Kaliphlin bearing word of acceptance.
Messenger- As you wish my lord. (He departs).
Little does the dwarf lord know that one of Glorfindels spies, a high ranking elf captain had overheard the entire conversation and was made plans to also be at Durok Lighthouse at the time of the meeting.
The dwarf lord Andrix arrives at Durok lighthouse, to his surprise he finds one of Glorfindels captains already at the meeting.
Lord Andrix- Why is one of Glorfindels Servants, an enemy of the dwarves present at this meeting!
Lord Parimere- This meeting was called to discuss the prospects of the dwarves starting a war with the Avalonian Elves, Not to volunteer our services to the dwarves in the war you have made so clear is coming!
Lord Andrix- So what if a war is coming, I refuse to have anything to do with Avalonian elves.
Elf Captain- You have the influence to calm the dwarves and stop this war.
Lord Andrix- So what if I do!
Hassius Meduseld- The elves of Avalonia have detailed maps made by me of all the war preparations made by the dwarf clans.
Lord Andrix- Then the dwarf clans will make new plans.
Lord Parimere- You know as well as we do that the dwarves have made the best possible plans for tunnels, secret tracks, tricks and attacks, and that those plans are in our hands. And all the forces of Anrarr will be with the elves to defend their lands. For the defeat of the dwarves you will be held responsible when you could have easily been known as a peacemaker by the dwarf clans.
Lord Andrix- Very well I consent, your plans have been well made. I will make the dwarf council see reason.
Elf Captain- It is better for both our races my friend.
Lord Andrix- True, it is. I thank you lord Parimere for making me see reason.
(He leaves)
Lord Parimere- Let us hope that the peace will remain long unbroken.
I hope the story is up to scratch, I have had nothing to compare it to since no other category C entries have been posted. On another note I am currently exhibiting the lighthouse at an expo in Williamstown and have had little kids running there hands through the water and "borrowing" 1 x 1 round plates.